Where Dwell the Brave at Heart
by Scandalacious Intentions
Summary: Lupin and Sirius sort through some old school photographs.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: ****It's not mine and my lawyer would like to say that whatever I told people, it should be taken into account that I was on pain medication at the time.**

**A/N: Once the awkward silence is over, this is going to require an explanation. **_**Where Dwell the Brave at Heart**_** was the first big fan fiction piece I ever wrote. That was back in 2009. Four years on, a lot of the other things I've written tie into it. I tend to keep them all in the same universe. So I tend to send people to the original first. It doesn't give anyone a good impression.**

**I have a lot of other things I should be doing (including in real life), but the original makes me cringe so much. Looking back, there are so many problems I have with it. That's why I'm not just going back and editing the chapters. The reviews and their constructive criticism wouldn't really make a lot of sense and I'd like to leave them up because they taught me so much.**

**So I'm re-writing it. There are a lot of reasons why really, but that's the big one. I'm not abandoning my other stuff, even though it's been a while. I'll be updating this every Friday anyway because most of it is already outlined.**

_December 1995_

"This is for Harry from you and me."

Sirius lifts the beautifully wrapped red parcel and weighs it in his hands. "What is it?"

"It's a complete set of books."

Sirius rolls his eyes and smiles affectionately. "What else would it be?"

"Well, yes, but these are wonderful. I mean they're perfect." Lupin's eyes light up. "They'll teach him everything he's missing out on and you should see the illustrations. If I could afford them, I'd keep them for myself. Look, I hope you don't mind splitting it." His right arm snakes around his neck. "I managed to haggle the price down, but it's still pretty extortionate."

Sirius' eyes narrow in suspicion. "How did you haggle?"

"Well, I pulled out Volume One, got a good grip on the spine, flicked through the pages, rubbed the illustrations a bit, and then told the manager I had Leprosy."

"You're joking, Remus."

"Of _course_ I'm joking. I haggled the way everyone haggles. I noticed he hadn't sold any yet and told him what I'd give him for one, but I wanted to keep it fair and the illustrations really are fantastic, so…"

"At least it's not faulty."

Lupin looks affronted. "I don't buy faulty gifts."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Name one thing you have bought at discount price which I've not had to fix. There was the record player that one year - that was eventful, that clock with the planets orbiting it, the talking doormat, the Droobles dispenser machine in which I nearly lost my arm."

"Yes, but they weren't gifts. They were for _me_. Speaking of for me." He reaches into his brown leather satchel and pulls out a parcel the size of a matchbox. It too has been wrapped in the same dull red paper. "This is for me from you."

Sirius nods curtly. "Thanks."

Lupin laughs pathetically to end the silence that descends. "No. It's my gift. 'Thanks' is my line."

"I feel awful."

Lupin smiles brightly. "Well, don't. This is the one sensible Christmas present you've ever given me."

"Christmas presents aren't supposed to be sensible."

"_Mine _are. That's how I like them. Practical."

Sirius peers at the present which fits neatly into the palm of his hand, as though trying to render the wrapping paper transparent. "What is it?"

Lupin smiles grimly. "It's a lens for my camera. I broke it years ago. I thought maybe I might start taking photographs again. You know, lots of new people and…"

Neither of them says it. Lots of memories you wished you'd captured; lots of wakes requiring framed portraits of laughing Order members.

Lupin shakes his head, trying to forcibly remove the morbid train of thought that follows. He had sat at Sirius' kitchen table, when the Order had first reassembled, his eyes focusing on each person in turn, wondering who might not join them in the new year, and hated himself for it. He assumed it might be the reckless, the brave and foolish - as James had been. Sirius fits the bill nicely and Lupin is relieved that he is under what equates to house arrest. Perhaps Nymphadora Tonks, young enough to be unaware of the atrocities the others had seen? Lupin shudders. He doesn't want to imagine her funeral, her photograph resting on the coffin as she makes faces behind a pane of glass. She is more alive than any of them.

"So," he says, wrapping his cardigan tightly around him, though Sirius' room is more than adequately heated, "I thought new year, new lens."

"For the Kodak?" Sirius gives a small, pathetic, barely audible laugh. "You've still got that?"

"Well, my dad bought it for me so…" Lupin shifts his weight to his left leg and stares out of the window onto the busy Islington street below. "I can't bring myself to replace it."

Sirius bites his lower lip, slight creases forming on his forehead. "What happened to all those photographs?"

Lupin shrugs, attempting to sound casual - as though he doesn't stare at them when he is in the depths of despair. "Oh, they're around somewhere."

* * *

Sirius is notoriously difficult to buy for, so Lupin doesn't suppose immersing himself in their past in a bid for inspiration is all that surprising.

He finds himself sitting amongst them, piling them around him in turrets, building himself a fortress of photographs. He doesn't know why any of them were taken. They don't capture any momentous events. Most appear to have been taken on a whim, because James had made a particularly disastrous move on Lily, because Sirius and Peter were brewing something unspeakable, their heads bent over Peter's cauldron at the foot of his bed.

He stares down at his three twelve-year-old friends who are rolling their eyes at him. They'd been in the middle of a discussion when the flash had almost blinded them in the corner of their eyes.

"_Jesus, Remus."_

"_Watch what you're doing with that thing. If you got a horn for it, you could steer ships in the dark."_

"_What did you even want a picture for?"_

_He couldn't tell them it was because they were bound to figure him out sooner or later and he wanted proof that the past year had not been a dream, so he shrugged._

"_Just testing it. I got a new bulb."_

Lupin reaches for the last of the wrapping paper.

* * *

"Thank you."

Lupin jumps, almost dropping the large box he was carrying down two flights of stairs. "Harry! Happy Christmas. I'm glad you like them. Sirius didn't really want to get you books, I don't think, but I thought they'd come in handy."

Harry grins. "Yeah, I've already found a use for them."

Lupin returns the smile. "As long as it's not doorstops." There's something in his responding smile - something decidedly reminiscent of James, something unnerving. Lupin chooses to ignore it. Whatever Harry has got planned is none of his business.

"Oh and Sirius is looking for you. Something about the Christmas presents you buy yourself."

Lupin laughs. "Right."

* * *

_March 10__th__ 1971._

"_Happy birthday."_

_Lupin nodded. The box was heavy in his hands and he was frightened that he'd drop it. "Thank you."_

"_I wanted to get you something to take to school."_

_His father beamed down at him, nodding. Lupin set the box on the kitchen table, not wanting to admit that he was terrified of going to Hogwarts, that he was grateful for his father's efforts, but really he'd be much happier at home._

"_Thanks."_

"_Go on then. Open it."_

_He thought it might be his textbooks, but his mother usually gave him books or several other small things she was sure he'd enjoy. His father's guilt made him somewhat overzealous, buying gifts he could present to the crown prince of some exotic locale._

_It was a small black and silver camera marked 'Kodak Retina IIa'._

"_Your mum says there's a newer model on the market, but I thought this one looked a bit nicer."_

_His son said nothing, staring at the camera._

"_If you don't like it, Remus-"_

_Lupin shook his head. "No, I do. I love it."_

"_I don't have many photographs of my friends and I don't see some of them so much these days. I was very young when we had you. One minute they were all telling me your mother was quite a catch and the next, they treated fatherhood like a contagious infection. Eventually, you're all going to go your separate ways and I want you to have more than memories."_

* * *

"I want you to have more than memories."

Sirius stares up at him, his hands still buried deep in the box of photographs which had been wrapped in red ribbon. "What'll _you_ have?"

"Oh, I have duplicates and I haven't given them _all_ to you. I tried to choose just those I thought you'd like."

Sirius shakes his head in disbelief. "I…thank you. Really. Thank you."

"And you're not to mope over them. That's the one condition."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You give Christmas presents with conditions now?"

Lupin frowns. "I moped. I moped over them for twelve years. It's not an easy habit to break. Some of them I burned, some I gave to Harry, some I defaced after half a bottle of whiskey. So just promise me you won't mope over them."

Sirius nods. "Yes. No. I mean…" He shakes his head. "You gave photographs to Harry?"

"Hagrid asked me for a couple. Technically Hagrid gave photographs to Harry. They're mostly pictures of Lily and James. You're in a few. So's Peter. I didn't give him any of James' school photos. I thought he'd want pictures of his family rather than…well, pictures that don't really mean anything. I deliberately kept myself out of it. I thought I was the only person left he could ever track down and that was the last thing I thought I wanted."

There's a funny glint in Sirius' eyes. "So he's not seen any of these?"

Lupin shakes his head. His eyes widen in understanding. "No. I was in a position of authority. I was his _teacher_, Sirius."

Sirius grins. "But you're not anymore."

"I'm still in a position of care. So are _you_. Even more so. You cannot show him those photographs. I've put my foot down. That's it. You're not doing it."

Sirius' grin fades to a soft smile. "But these aren't your photographs anymore, Moony. You gave them to me. They're _mine_. I can do whatever I want with them."

Lupin's nose twitches in repressed fury. "I'm supervising you - censoring you, if necessary."

Sirius scoffs. "Censoring me?"

Lupin frowns deeply. "James isn't here to defend himself. James isn't here to be an example of the man he grew up to be. All I'm asking is that you remember that when you show him these."

"Remus, we were _all_ bastards. I mean, all right, I might make an exception for you, but you had your moments. Don't try to deny it."

"I won't. Harry can still ask me questions, demand explanations from me, and I can still give them to the best of my ability. That's the point you're failing to grasp here."

Sirius rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. "What do you want me to say then? What's acceptable?"

"You do not mention Snape."

Sirius scowls. "If he's _in _them-"

"_Some_. Him, James, and that damned flobberworm - that's in there. That sort of thing is fine, but you have to remember that Snape is still Harry's teacher. You can't belittle him. Besides, what would Harry think?"

Sirius scoffs. "For the love of Christ! He can't stand him, Remus."

Lupin raises his eyebrows pointedly. "And where's he inherited that from?"

"_You_, Remus. You just as much as me. I know what happened with that boggart."

"You do?"

"_Everyone_ knows. It was fucking hysterical. You expect me to keep a story like that to myself? That's not the point. Point is, you actively encouraged a teenaged boy to conjure up Snape in drag."

Lupin tries not to smile, but a muscle jumps in his jaw and betrays him. Sirius grins.

"Look, you and I both know I'm not concerned about Snape. I'm concerned about James - specifically Harry's opinion of him. You don't know what he's like, Sirius. He hero worships Jim."

"I don't know what he's like? Oh, forgive me, Remus, I thought it was _me_ he had pinned to the floor. I thought he was screaming at _me_. Obviously, I was mistaken."

"Well, quite. Maybe it's none of my business, but I don't think anyone should shatter his illusions. He's only fifteen. He's a _child _who ultimately still needs his dad - the man he's imagined his dad to be. So please. Think about how _you'd_ feel if someone showed you your hero's feet of clay when _you _were fifteen. You left home three days before James was back from France and my father could have left you to sleep in the chicken shed after what you'd just done to me, but he didn't. I know you admired him for it. We _all_ knew. You practically fell over yourself trying to get back into his good books. And you were my friend, I had to forgive you, but if you'd done that to _my_ son, I don't know how I would have killed you, but I can assure you it wouldn't have been an open-casket funeral."

Sirius nods. "I know."

"And when I told you what he'd done to me, even inadvertently, you were mortified."

"Yes, for _you_."

"Exactly! And _why_? Because he was there for you. Because you _liked_ him. Because you were familiar with the man he became. Otherwise, you'd have been furious."

Sirius sighs. "All right. You've made your point."

"Thank you."

They fall into an awkward silence while Sirius flicks through the only documentation of seven years of friendship.

"What if the story's particularly hilarious?"

Lupin raises an eyebrow. "_Especially_ if you find it particularly hilarious."

"Don't be such a wet blanket. I think maybe I'll grab him when he comes back before he can skulk off and get like you do."

Lupin makes a face. "What does that mean?"

"Self-absorbed."

Lupin gapes at him.

"Oh, come on. _I'm not cursed. I am the curse._"

"Sirius, that was at my father's funeral."

"I'll strike it from the record, but the feeling had been there since the day I met you."

"Coincidence?"

"All right, maybe not self-absorbed. Self-pitying then. You are the most self-pitying person I know. And he's getting that way. I just don't want him to come home and shut himself off. It's Christmas. Maybe it'll distract him from Arthur."

Lupin, though marveling at Sirius' hypocrisy, nods his approval.

"Did you mean it - when you said you'd censor me?"

"Of course not. I meant what I said about James, but I wouldn't _censor _you."

"You _couldn't_ censor me. I meant are you going to stay? Are you going to be here when I talk about them?"

Lupin smiles sadly. "If you want me to be. Where would I go?"

"I don't know whether or not I'm anticipating it."

"If that's got anything to do with my talk of burning and defacing and whiskey, I'll admit that most of that was in a fit of self-pity."

Sirius laughs genuinely for the first time in months. "I knew it."


	2. In which Lupin is discovered

**Disclaimer: See Prologue.**

"Harry!"

Harry, who, having seen the Weasleys in obvious distress, has planned to spend the rest of the day in his bedroom, making no noise and pretending he isn't there, slumps.

Sirius does not seem at all perturbed or discouraged by this. "Come on in."

The Library is a dark and almost stifling room. The bookshelves loom menacingly over the seats, ladders propped against them. The windows are long and narrow, and take up most of the far wall, but night has fallen and sunlight offers no relief from the draped walls and well thumbed, leather-bound books - none of which Harry thinks would be stocked even in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.

But a fire roars in the grate, the room smells of sweet tea and cinnamon, and Sirius appears to be in unusually high spirits. So Harry takes a tentative step closer.

"We've got something we'd like you to see."

Harry's gaze darts instinctively to the seat opposite Sirius, but it is empty. He eyes his godfather with some concern.

"Cup of tea?"

Harry jumps. It's only when he searches for the face that he finds it, largely obscured by shadows in the corner of the room, leaning over a table, deep in concentration. There's something eerie, he thinks, about Lupin's ability to blend into the background, but his presence is comforting nonetheless. There's something very grounding about him and Harry trusts he will not have to sit with a Sirius who is decidedly reminiscent of Mundungus Fletcher.

"Er…no, thanks, I'm fine."

Lupin sets his cup atop a small pile of papers and takes the seat beside Sirius, pulling the box Harry recognises out from under the Georgian loveseat. His eyes are wide and twinkling.

"I don't want to upset you or cause you any unnecessary distress," he says, eyeing Harry with some trepidation. "If you'd rather not see these, I understand."

Curiosity peaked, Harry takes the seat opposite.

"What are they?"

"Old photographs."

Harry has seen "old photographs" in the past. Moody's idea of a treat had disturbed him. He doesn't want his parents and their friends to wave up at him, smiling like they've no idea what being in the Order entails.

"Oh," he says eventually, wondering how he can make a quick getaway without seeming impolite.

Lupin offers him a knowing smile. "They're school photographs. I gave a couple to Sirius for Christmas and we…_he_…thought you might want to see some of them. They're not particularly meaningful. I took most of them to infuriate and/or embarrass him."

"And I've never been allowed to forget any of them," adds Sirius.

"So with that in mind," says Lupin, leaning across to hand Harry the box, "I think you should choose them. It'll prevent any bias on Sirius' part."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "On _my_ part? What about any bias on _yours_?"

Lupin smiles almost smugly. "That's the thing about being the photographer, you're never in photographs."

"What happened to that stand I bought you for your birthday?"

"I _like_ not being in my photographs." Turning to Harry, he adds, "Anything you are told tonight really oughtn't to be repeated outside of this room."

Harry tries to bite back his smile.

"Some of your professors were also our professors. Some, I assume, have safely retired by now. At least one, as you know, is a contemporary of ours."

Sirius snorts and Lupin elbows him sharply.

"I would appreciate it - _we_ would appreciate it - if you kept this to yourself."

Harry nods.

"Feel free to browse through them and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. We'll do the best we can."

Harry chooses the nearest to him and pulls out a photograph he immediately wishes he hadn't chosen. He wonders whether he can get away with sliding it back into the box, but both Lupin and Sirius are looking at him expectantly.

They sit in what Harry recognises as the Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory. Lupin sits on what Harry assumes is his, Lupin's, bed as the duvet is tucked under the pillows and the pile of books on the nightstand is taller than the candelabra beside it. It's the bed pushed up against the window, opposite the bathroom door. It now belongs to Neville. Harry frowns. Or is it Dean?

"Let's have a look," says Sirius, getting to his feet.

Harry wonders whether this is entirely appropriate. He is staring down at a picture of his former professor sobbing on a bed. His father and Sirius are beaming up at him, trying to jolly Lupin along. It's not quite what he had expected.

"Oh, that was, what? 1972? '73?"

Harry turns the photograph awkwardly toward Lupin, who nods.

"We'd recently studied werewolves in Defence Against the Dark Arts. We weren't supposed to have. I can't remember what was said, but someone asked our professor a question and she ended up talking about Lycanthropy for an hour." He cannot quite meet Harry's eyes and address the bookshelf behind him instead. "And I liked the teacher. She was very good at what she did and she was always very pleasant, especially to me. She set homework. We had to write up notes. And my friends…well, none of them were stupid."

* * *

_March 9__th__ 1973. Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom._

"So there's the snout, sometimes the unusual colour of their fur, their tail, and most importantly, their eyes. Really, there's very little difference between a wolf and a werewolf, though I wouldn't suggest you get close enough to study either of them." Professor Dearheart leaned against the corner of her desk. "A wolf is dangerous enough for me, thank you. A werewolf, at least, you may outrun or hide from until morning. A wolf will simply wait for you to fall out of the tree. And worse, wolves travel in packs."

Sirius raised his hand and Dearheart wearily gestured for him to speak.

"That's all very well, but what are we supposed to do if we find ourselves in front of a werewolf?"

Dearheart smiled. "The imperative thing, Sirius, is that you will not. Of course, proper precautions have to be taken. Frankly, if you're ambling through the woods in the middle of the night during a full moon, what are you expecting? Half of the battle is not to put oneself in danger needlessly."

"Say we stumble on one then."

"Then you run like a bat out of hell."

"That's your method, is it?"

Dearheart grinned. "I am a trained witch, Black. You are thirteen. You are also perfectly safe. Now, I want a small paragraph on the identification of a werewolf. Strictly, I shouldn't be teaching you this yet, but there's no harm in a head start. And for those of you itching to get your wands out, you'll be studying actual defence against a werewolf next year."

* * *

_March 18__th__ 1973. Hogwarts Grounds._

Lupin winced and closed his eyes against the glare of the early spring sun.

"You all right?" asked James. "Shouldn't have wolfed down so many roast potatoes at lunch, should you?"

Lupin laughed pathetically. "It's just a headache. It'll pass."

"I don't know where you put it all," said Sirius. "I've never before seen anyone eat three helpings of meat and twelve veg and then two slices of cake. And _still_ you look like a good strong wind will carry you off."

Lupin's smile was strained. "I didn't realise my eating habits were being monitored." He glanced behind him toward the sun. "I'll have to get moving. I'm going home tonight."

Peter frowned.

"Is your Mum still no better?" asked James. "Give her our best."

"Well, it comes and goes," said Lupin. "Every few weeks, she gets pains and she's just not herself."

"That's a period, Remus. You and your father are far too indulgent."

Lupin glared half-heartedly at Sirius. "I'd better get going. Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully."

Peter waited until Lupin was out of earshot before he started his pitch. "Have you noticed what day it is today?"

"Sunday? Jesus, Pete, we get to the end of the week before you realise what day it is?"

"All right, what tonight is? Have either of you noticed what tonight is?"

"Sunday _night_?"

"James, I'm serious. It's a full moon."

Sirius laughed. "Don't let Dearheart catch you in the forest. She'll lose it."

Peter sighed despairingly. "It's _every_ full moon."

James frowned. "Is it?"

"Yes. Take a look at your lunar charts if you don't believe me."

"Coincidence, surely. I mean, _look_ at him. No offence meant to Remus, but he doesn't look much like a werewolf, does he? No. He looks like a weed."

Sirius hummed disbelievingly. "He's got a point, Jim. Eighteen months of coincidences? Besides, we _met_ his Mum and she's fine. More than fine."

James rolled his eyes. "Just because Remus isn't here to beat shit out of you for that, doesn't mean you can get away with it."

"Remus Lupin couldn't beat shit out of me in his wildest dreams."

Peter bit his lip. "Do you think maybe I'm being paranoid?"

James shrugged. Sirius shook his head.

"What could be wrong with his mother?" asked Sirius. "I mean, if we can find out what it is, we can rule out Lycanthropy. As Remus would say about one of us, all we need is to use a little bit of logic."

James scoffed. "Stepping into Remus' shoes, are you? Go on then. Off to the library with you."

Peter frowned deeply. "I'm just saying it's something we ought to think about. It's a full moon, he just ate more food in one sitting than he usually eats in a week, and he's got a headache that's making him crabby. And this happens _every _month. You have to consider the facts."

James smiled grimly. "I'm sure it's nothing but a storm in Sidcup."

"Teacup."

"Oh, whatever."

* * *

_March 21__st__ 1973. Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory._

Lupin lay on his front, flicking through a back issue of _Transfiguration Today_. The room was otherwise empty and he was glad of the peace and quiet. It had been a difficult transformation which had left him with fresh scars in compromising places. The sun was shining, but he was forced to wear long sleeves.

It wasn't to last.

"Remus, can we have a word?"

Lupin turned onto his side. "What about?"

James cleared his throat and, suddenly serious, said, "Your mother."

Lupin plastered on a smile. "Oh, she's much better now. Thank you."

"She's not though, is she, Remus?" mumbled Peter.

Lupin sat up, his eyes wide with fear. "What do you mean by that?"

"I know, Remus. We _all_ know. The three of us."

Lupin's face drained of colour. His eyes glazed over and for a moment, James thought he might faint. "No. Please no."

"Did you think we were fucking idiots? Seriously? How long did you think you were going to be able to pull it off? Seven years?" Sirius laughed, not altogether pleasantly.

Lupin shook his head. "I…oh God…I didn't want…I…" He fell into silence, his fingers wrapping around his bedpost so tightly that they were almost white.

James softened. "We're not pissed off about you being a werewolf. We're pissed off because you didn't tell us."

Lupin rested his head against the post and . "And what would I have said? What would _you_ have said? You'd have wanted me out. You probably still do. And that's fine. I can understand why you would, why you _do_, I don't know. I'll leave tomorrow. I'm sure I can make alternative arrangements for a bed tonight and -"

"Oh, for goodness sake. Don't be ridiculous," Sirius snapped.

Lupin sighed with relief. "Well that's something. Thank you." He relinquished his hold on the bedpost and sat on the mattress. "I appreciate it."

"We're your friends, Remus," said James, sitting next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "And some things matter more than…your…I don't know, your furry little problem. Yes, you're a werewolf, but you're still the guy who gets me out of nearly every sticky spot I have ever found myself in, and that counts for something."

Lupin wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. "I thought you were going to have me thrown out."

"Don't be a tit, Remus. No-one's going to throw you out. This won't leave this room. It's not just your secret anymore," said James. "And anyone who _does_ take it outside of this room is going to answer to me, and it won't be pleasant. I am certain, in fact, that that person will cry lots and want their mother."

Sirius snorted. "I'd take _you _over my mother any day. I'd be more likely to want to cuddle up with Remus at the full moon."

Lupin cringed.

Sirius clicked his tongue. "You need a thicker skin." But he took a seat on the other side of Lupin and nudged him affectionately. "It's all right, you know. In fact, _I_ think it's great. I'm in Gryffindor, my mate's not only a half-blood, but his mother is an actual real-life Muggle, _and_ he's a werewolf. You've given me the life I've always wanted."

Lupin managed a weak laugh.

The camera clicked and Lupin's head shot up as the Polaroid slid out of the bottom. "Please, Peter, just be careful."

"Don't be such a wet blanket."

Lupin rolled his eyes. "That's sort of what I'm here for. It's my job to rain on your reckless parade."

"You're here because you're brilliant, Remus. So stop it. I know you have twenty pounds of chocolate in that drawer so you might as well crack it open. We'll all have a pound or two. After what I saw at the table last Sunday, I reckon you could put away three or four."

Nothing seemed to have changed between them and Lupin, in his entire life, had never been happier.


	3. In which Peter is pummelled

**Disclaimer: See Prologue**

**A/N: *Looks around sheepishly* Yeeeeeeaaaah, let's not talk about my absence.**

Harry's still not entirely sure what to make it of it and he has no intention of saying anything that might reveal this. It's difficult to imagine either of them at twelve, undamaged and naïve.

The silence is deafening. The creak in Lupin's knees as he gets to his feet forces a wince from Harry. He wonders if it's always been so loud or whether he failed to notice it before.

"And nobody else wants anything?"

Sirius looks up, panic in his eyes. He speaks too quickly, almost accusatory. "Where are you going?"

"To fetch my cup."

"So you're not actually _making _tea then?"

"You don't drink tea," Lupin protests.

"I don't drink _your_ tea, no."

"Well then."

"Do you think it's weak too?" Harry asks, still flicking through photographs.

Sirius laughs loud enough to make him drop several hair-raisingly close the fireplace. Harry frowns as he collects them, careful not to leave fingerprints on the film, wondering what on earth he could possibly have said.

"I do _not_ make weak tea."

"Moony, give up."

"Right. Well it'll be cold by now anyway."

"Christ. Cold _and_ weak."

Lupin glares, reaching for his abandoned cup and taking a seat.

"What's that about?" asks Harry, offering only a quick glance at a photograph before flipping it over and peering at Peter, sitting up in a bed Harry thinks might be in the Hospital Wing. His father and Sirius are staring up at him, bemused, beyond words, and with a touch of irritation. Peter manages a small smile.

"Ah." Sirius nods to fill the silence with a gesture. "There was a girl I used to know and she and her brother had rather unfortunate names."

"Such as?"

"Electra, who James used to call The Electra Complex, and her brother, Orestes, who we all quietly loathed, but perhaps none of us as much as Remus."

"You loathe people who make your skin crawl, the sight of whom makes you almost physically sick. I hated Orestes Nott. I _hated_ him. I thought he was vile. But I _loathed_ Charles Mulciber, and if I use 'loathe' on anybody else, it loses its significance."

Harry frowns deeply, unable to comprehend why they insist on talking to him as though he's one of them, as though he was there. "_Who_?"

"Oh, we'll get to Mulciber," Sirius assures him, "but this is about Peter and Orestes. It must have been fifth year…"

* * *

_March 29__th__ 1976. Hospital Wing._

"What were you _thinking_?"

Peter shrugged and, as this involved moving his bruised shoulders and shaking the sling in which his arm was being kept until Madam Pomfrey got round to treating him, cried out.

"Oh for God's sake," snapped Sirius. "Don't make it any worse. Sit still."

James, still covered in mud and wearing his Quidditch robes, propped his broom against the wall and stood opposite his friends, Peter's bed between them.

"Jesus Christ, what possessed you?"

Peter frowned. He looked like a pouting child. "I don't know. He was acting like an idiot and I…I…just reacted"

"Anyone ever told you _you're _a bloody idiot, Peter?" James rolled his eyes. "What actually happened?"

Lupin smiled grimly. "I can't remember how it started, something about that Hufflepuff, Harrington, I think, and then Peter called him Testes again."

"_You_ call him Testes," Peter protested.

"Yeah," Lupin admitted, "not to his _face_."

"It just slipped out."

James gawped. "What are you, Peter, retarded? He's huge. Not even Sirius will start on him."

Sirius reacted as though stung. "That has nothing to do with size. I could take Orestes Nott any day of the week."

"All right, all right, so he's Electra's brother."

"Thank you."

"He's big, but he's stupid," said Peter.

"Clever enough to dislocate your fucking shoulder." James sighed irritably. "Where the _hell_ is Pomfrey anyway? This shouldn't take her two minutes."

"I think," said Lupin, "she has far more pressing issues on match day."

James glared at him before deciding he wasn't going to pick a fight with the boy who almost _collected _embarrassing photographs. "And why the bloody hell weren't you in the air?" he snapped at Sirius. "We only lost because I had to send McAuliffe out as Beater."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I didn't do it deliberately. I don't know what came over Minnie. She started talking about 'last straws'."

"I don't care if I have to tie you to the bedpost-"

"I always knew you were kinkier than a cheap garden hose."

"Sirius, I swear to God, I will kick your arse around this room." James collapsed into a seat, his anger sated. "And then, while I'm on a roll, Nott will join you." He turned to Lupin, the fire in his eyes almost extinguished. "And why didn't you do anything? You should have stepped in."

"I did," Lupin protested. "Why do you think Wormtail's only got a dislocated shoulder? Nott was _going_ to break both his arms."

Peter confirmed this with vigorous nodding. "He was, yeah."

"So I did what my mother usually does with Ministry officials and just gestured wildly at something behind him while talking a load of shit, until I think his last three brain cells exploded somewhere behind his eyes."

Sirius made a face. "You pulled the 'It's behind you' on him? Remus, are you a fucking wizard or what?"

Lupin lifted his hands to form quotation marks with his fingers, a gesture even he found hugely irritating. "Responding to a situation like a 'fucking wizard', Sirius, usually lands me into trouble I could otherwise have avoided."

"You'd never believe one of your parents was a fully-fledged pureblood. Jesus."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, I'm going to stop you there. Is there _any_ situation in which you would actually _take_ my dad's advice? I mean, remember when we went camping abroad with James' parents and I was worried about bear attacks? And what did my own _father_ say to me? 'If you're fighting a bear, don't use your penis; you'll probably lose it.'"

Sirius laughed. "I remember that, yeah. Your face, Remus, your _face_!"

"But," James reminded him, "nobody was attacked by a bear and if we had been, you'd at least have known not to whip your knob out."

"When _would_ you do that? When, James, would you unzip your fly and demand a duel? _When_?"

"When would _you_ or when would _I_?" The green flecks in James' hazel eyes were becoming more pronounced and Lupin knew to drop the subject before he never lived it down.

"Sometimes," said Peter, "I wish we were all mates with your dad and you could just sort of sit at home and write letters to us about how disappointed you are."

Lupin scoffed. "Cheers, Peter. Let me tell you, if you'd been watching that match with my dad, he'd have pissed himself when you lost the use of both arms." He sighed and reached for his satchel. "I want a photograph of this. At this rate, it might be one of the last I actually get of Peter; Nott'll kill him by sixth year."

James clicked his tongue, but obligingly moved closer to the hospital bed.

"Don't be such a misery," said Lupin. "I even managed to get a few decent shots of you with the Quaffle. You'll thank me later, you vainglorious bastard."

The camera clicked and Lupin shook the film, blowing on it gently until the forms of his friends emerged. Their smiles would remain frozen until fully developed, but he could guess what they'd be doing once they could make gestures at him.

"All right, Mr. Pettigrew, let me take a look at your arm."


	4. In which Sirius swings

**Disclaimer: See Prologue**

**A/N: ****I was going to alter this one significantly less. The first Sirius chapter of "Where Dwell the Brave at Heart" was about that slightly awkward start of a friendship with Lupin, and I was **_**going **_**to fix it, but you can find the re-written version of that in "Where Dwell the Brave at Heart - the Outtakes"; it's chapter 47.**

**And the second is his leaving Grimmauld Place to live with the Potters, which can be found in both the aforementioned story, chapter 65, and **_**The Final Act**_**.**

**So I'm not re-writing either for fear it bore some people.**

**A/N: Also, to everyone I have not already replied to, thank you so much for a response I was certainly not expecting to the last chapter. I hugely appreciated it.**

"I'm not…" Harry trails off, staring at the sudden glance, almost an inside joke, between Peter and his sixteen-year-old godfather. "Who was Nott?"

"We grew up together," Sirius explains. "We were taught the same things before going to Hogwarts. Until we were about nine, we were only allowed to communicate in French. His sister…I was fond of his sister."

Lupin briefly catches Harry's eye and Harry's eyebrows rocket skywards, hidden beneath his untidy fringe. It's not that it's so hard to imagine Sirius with a girlfriend, it's just that he's never so much as thought about it before. Harry eyes the teenage Sirius one last time - tall, angular, strikingly, disarmingly, attractive. No, it's not hard to imagine a small _army _of girlfriends.

What _is_ difficult to comprehend is his affection for anyone who grew up having been taught the same sort of thing. "And the sister…Electra, was it?"

Sirius nods.

"Right. So was she…well, like _you_?"

Sirius laughs genuinely. "No. No, not at all. Electra Nott was the child I think my mother wished I was; sent to Slytherin, made a Prefect, made the right sort of friends, knuckled down, passed with a complete set of Os."

"Right sort of friends?"

"Oh, come on. You _know_ what Slytherin's like; who it's _full _of." Sirius reaches for the pile of Polaroid photographs and flicks through them until he finds what he's been searching for. "But look at her; she was broom-stoppingly good looking, and she wasn't _quite _the fascist her brother was."

"I think it's probably more to do with her short skirt and sailor vocabulary," Lupin adds, dryly.

"I'm not going to deny they may have been factored into the equation."

There are two girls in the photograph, but Harry does not have to have Nott pointed out to him. She is infinitely taller than the other, slimmer, a little more muscular. Her cropped raven hair is pushed out of her face by a headband. Her cheekbones are chiseled and her eyes are a somewhat unsettling shade of electric blue; almost inhuman. But he can't deny that she _is_ beautiful.

Despite her making the "right sort of friends", the other girl, whom Electra's arm is wrapped around, wears a Gryffindor scarf.

"Who's that?"

Sirius takes the photograph from him. "I've told you, we'll get to Mulciber." He smirks across at Lupin whose responding smile is grim.

"Can't wait," he mutters darkly.

Harry, now deeply intrigued, risks a brief glance in Lupin's direction. He's sitting cross-legged, leaning back in his chair, throwing Sirius a half-hearted glare, but there's something in his dark eyes, something that turns them jet black.

Sirius, oblivious to it, encourages Harry to rifle through the pile. "Hold onto that one," he says, nodding toward the photograph of Electra and her friend. "I _do_ want to talk about it and that's probably the best photograph I've got of her."

"If you mean Mulciber, _I_ will do the talking," is all that Lupin offers on the subject.

Harry offers cursory glances to several photographs; four boys covered in cake mix, his father's head disappearing into a sink while Sirius nonchalantly holds his hair with one hand and talks animatedly with the other, his father, Sirius, and Lupin in the Charms Corridor, the door that had concealed Fluffy in the background. It means nothing to them, but Harry lets out a small, breathy, almost sigh.

About to shift the next photograph to the back of the pile as he has done the others, Harry starts at the image of his father and Sirius, suspended twenty feet in the air, swinging from a mechanical arm. Beneath them, tarmac, then an expanse of water, then tarmac. The very sight of it induces a clenching of Harry's stomach muscles. He flips it, wondering how anyone can look at such a precarious instrument and laugh.

"I was born in the South Hams," Lupin explains. "By the time I went to Hogwarts, my parents and I were living in a place called Hope Cove. It's about five miles away from Kingsbridge, which is, well, sort of a hub; an actual town where all the twisting lanes lead to. Hope Cove had a corner shop, three pubs, and a beach, which is all very well if all you need is a pint and some tinned ham, but should you require anything _useful_, you have to go into town. I had to go to Kingsbridge every day to even go to school when I was a child."

Harry's eyes flit down to the photograph before meeting Lupin's gaze. "So _this_, this is in Kingsbridge?"

Lupin nods. "Fair Week, third week of July. That must have been at the end of our second year. I'd invited the boys, I did _every_ year, and your father and Sirius spotted The Fly Trap as soon as we'd got out of my mother's car, and being your father and Sirius, decided they were going to go on it. A dirty look could have brought the whole thing down."

* * *

_July 24__th__ 1973. Hope Cove, Devon._

They arrived in dribs and drabs; James and Sirius taking the Saturday morning train from Paddington to Kingsbridge, and Peter side-along Apparating into the front garden the following Tuesday.

Having spent a week in Spain with his mother and half-sister, Peter's skin was a much darker shade than anyone else's, with the exception of Mrs. Lupin whose Italian heritage gave Remus his almost beige colouring and inability to burn in the sun.

James' mother bequeathed to him no such gift and his skin was already beginning to peel. Seemingly giving an excellent performance as a radish, James continued to apply Mrs. Lupin's moisturiser in place of after-sun.

"You smell beautiful," Sirius assured him over breakfast on Thursday.

"Shut it."

"That's a nasty burn on your back," said Mrs. Lupin, placing a plate laden with extra bacon in front of him as though to compensate. "If you'd had an accident, we'd have you sorted. We've got everything under the sun for cuts, infections, bruises, fractures, torn ligaments. You could have been hit by a bus and I'd be better prepared to look after you. I don't know what your mother will think of me."

"It's what she'll think of _me_ that I'm worried about," James muttered darkly. "I'm going to have hell when I get home."

"Why?" asked Peter, his mouth full of scrambled eggs.

"Because she packed me sun cream, but I looked like an idiot."

Mrs. Lupin clicked her tongue. "I should have made sure you were all wearing hats."

Sirius laughed. "Hats? We'd have looked seven."

"The fair will take your mind off it," said Lupin, spreading marmalade thickly across his toast.

"Easy on the marmalade, Remus." His father did not have to look up from the paper. "You're going to _look_ like an orange."

Lupin slowly licked the laden spoon in defiance.

"Four down," said John Lupin, tapping a pencil idly against the table. "Six letters. Occupant of Remus' bedroom if he keeps on. Oh, that's right! Lodger."

Even Lupin laughed. He took a bite of toast and turned to his mother. "But I can go? _We_ can go?"

Mrs. Lupin nodded. "I'll drive you in. Wait 'til your dad gets home and we can all go together."

John glanced up from the crossword. "I think I might still be banned."

"Stop it, you." But she leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Are you nearly finished?"

"I am _never_ finished with an uneaten bacon sandwich," he replied, filling in the last spaces of the crossword.

"Well get a wiggle on, it's ten to nine."

It was half past by the time the boys had eaten the Lupins out of house and home and, without her husband to take care of the breakfast things, Mrs. Lupin was elbow-deep in dishwaster by the time James was slathering himself in cocoa butter in order to leave the house without chafing.

"I don't know where you're going or what you're doing," she warned, "but I don't want to hear of any trouble."

"Trouble, Mum?" said Lupin in a manner befitting 'Et tu, Brute?' "_Us_? You must have misheard."

Their laughter rang out long after they had slammed the front door behind them.

* * *

_July 24__th__ 1973. Kingsbridge, Devon._

The air tasted of salt, the estuary being filled with sea water at high tide, and somewhere close by, someone was frying battered fish.

Having squeezed into the battered red Volkswagon and careered down the narrow lanes at speeds Sirius had no idea Muggle contraptions could reach, he was sufficiently hyped up. All six of them had heard the screams, the laughter, the music since the last turn-off and every excited nudge from Sirius made James wince as his friend's elbow made contact with what remained of his skin.

"_Look_ at that." Sirius whistled as he slammed the car door with unnecessary force. "Up for it, Jim?"

James followed Sirius' gaze. It wasn't difficult to spot the object of such unbridled awe. Amongst the waltzers and the dodgems, and the cage that spun almost vertically, stood a tower of what looked like scrap-metal painted neon yellow. _The Fly Trap_ had been spelled out with flickering light bulbs at its base. Its arm swung back and forth, claw-like, each 'finger' a seat. The five riders made no noise as they were hurled through the air, seemingly paralysed with fear. Their mouths were wrenched open in screams, but the only sound from the ride appeared to be the slow creak of the claw.

"Absolutely."

John Lupin laughed. "Get on it quick. The chip shop shuts in half an hour and I'm not paying for your dinner to end up in the estuary."

Though James and Sirius waited, no queue formed behind them. It made James distinctly uneasy. The seat swung beneath him as he climbed into it and he clutched the metal bar that would soon stand between him and annihilation.

If James was feeling queasy, Sirius was in his element, grinning broadly as he handed over the Muggle money Mrs. Lupin had counted out for him.

"Isn't this brilliant?"

James, not trusting himself to speak, nodded briskly.

Slowly, the arm rose into the air, low enough to make out the Lupins and Peter waving, but high enough to induce genuine panic. With a sudden jolt, the machine flung them across the tarmac and over the water.

Sirius laughed. "Do you think this is what getting hit by a Bludger feels like?"

Twenty feet below them, Lupin pressed the shutter-release.

"I think this what getting a period feels like, Sirius." The mechanical arm creaked as it swung on its hinges. "And I also think this is the dodgiest fair I have ever been to."

"It's Loopy country," Sirius shot back. "What were you expecting?" He let go of the bar and held out his arms as though flying without a broom. "Seriously. Let go. It gets better."

"_Better_?" James snapped.

"James, believe me, you are in no fucking danger. Even if the bar falls off, you won't. All that bloody moisturiser will make you stick to the seat."

* * *

"How was it?" Lupin asked, showing Sirius the photograph as they ate vinegar soaked chips beside the quay.

"I thought I was going to die. It was fucking brilliant."


End file.
